Chapter Nine
Roman’s visit from Lacy and Timothy had left him shaken, and he’d left the office hoping that some fresh air would help.
He’d gotten that fresh air in the form of Miss Smith, who had shown up unexpectedly and given him something else to think about, a blessed respite.
Within minutes, his headache had gone away, and his burdens felt much lighter.
He’d even been able to carry on a conversation with Mrs. Smith, but he’d never taken his eyes off Anastasia, wondering what she was thinking and being ever so thankful that she hadn’t left town yet.
It had only been a few days since they’d met, but he was already dreading having to face the rest of his life without her.
The thought scared him.
It wasn’t rational at all. No one person should have that much influence over his life.
He was the master at the helm of his own ship, after all.
He set his course, he charted his destiny, and the journey was entirely his to dictate.
He was a self-made man, as Miss Smith had said, and he was proud of that.
He wished some things had gone differently, particularly in regards to Timothy, but now that he was aware of his brother’s feelings, he could set about making amends.
He could make that choice because he was an agent unto himself.
And yet there was Miss Smith with her frank manner of speaking, her unique perspective, the small dimple in her cheek, and suddenly being in total control wasn’t so important anymore.
He wanted to hear her thoughts and to listen to her ideas, and if they differed from his, he wanted to give them a fair shake.
He had no clue why he wanted these things or how this change had come about.
He just knew that he could hardly wait for supper that night when he could see her again.
With his return to the office, his thoughts also returned to Timothy.
With the two-hundred-dollar debt paid off, the slate was wiped clean.
Mending the relationship wasn’t so easy, especially when he hadn’t known how deeply Timothy was hurting.
He supposed that Lacy hadn’t known either—she would have told him.
Did these feelings go even deeper than that? Were more things being hidden from him?
He would wait a day or two for things to settle and then he’d go find his brother again.
That conversation was bound to go much better—he’d try to get more sleep first, and hopefully Timothy would be sober.
That was another issue. He’d been so focused on Timothy’s gambling debt that he hadn’t even addressed the drinking, and he had no idea if that would take additional rooting out or if his brother only drank while he was gambling.
One day at a time—that’s how he would approach it. Timothy knew Roman loved him. Now it was a matter of making sure Timothy knew how to respect himself.
***
For someone who had decided to excuse herself early from the supper table, Anastasia had spent a lot of time on her appearance, and she chided herself for it as she studied the effect in the mirror.
She’d chosen her burgundy gown, wishing she’d brought the green one from home instead, but the burgundy would do.
She had carefully piled her hair into curls on her head, allowing a few to trail down and brush her shoulders.
Her mother always wished she’d wear a bit more jewelry or even some powder, but she preferred to be simple—even tonight when she hoped to look her best, she kept her adornments to the minimum.
It was her hair that had taken the longest, and she’d always felt it was her best feature anyway.
What a bundle of contradictions she was, wanting to look attractive and yet not wanting to attract. Emotions were difficult things.
At ten minutes to six, the Smiths left their rooms and headed for the dining room.
James always insisted on punctuality, and even Leola, who habitually ran a bit late, was ready before her accustomed time.
Anastasia could tell that her mother was looking forward to this meal—no doubt she was eager for James to meet Mr. Kendall so she could share her hypothesis that the man was interested in Anastasia.
A hypothesis that was sure to fall apart, but until that happened, Leola was likely to believe it.
Anastasia just hoped that her mother wouldn’t be too brokenhearted.
As they approached the dining room, she saw Mr. Kendall up ahead, and for some ridiculous reason, her heart caught in her throat.
He’d changed into a dark suit coat and vest, and the smile he gave when he saw her was warm and sincere.
It was the way someone would look when they were greeting a friend, not just someone they had an obligation to see.
Then he was shaking her father’s hand and greeting her mother. Her nerves were back, making her want to change her mind and dash back to her room, change into her nightclothes, and pull her blankets over her head. She wasn’t prepared for the way her cheeks warmed when he glanced at her.
Then he was at her side, offering his arm.
“Shall we?” he said, motioning toward the dining room.
Her father was already escorting her mother that direction, so following along behind them was the perfectly natural course of action, but something more significant was happening.
She felt a shift in the air between them as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Why had her mother put all these ideas into her head?
This wouldn’t be so terribly awkward otherwise.
It was easier to be near him when she’d thought of him primarily as a subject to be painted.
“So, Mr. Kendall,” James said as the waitress placed water glasses on the table. “I understand you’re in finance.”
“That’s correct, sir. I’m a stock broker.”
“A stock broker, you say? That must be an interesting line of work. How did you get into it?”
Anastasia knew that her father was asking mostly to be polite, but from the look in his eyes, the question seemed to carry a deeper meaning to Mr. Kendall. He took a sip of water before answering.
“I grew up in poverty,” he said, sounding as though he was choosing his words carefully.
“My father passed away when I was seven years old, and by the time I was eight, my mother was working day and night to support us. At the age of fifteen, I struck out on my own to find a way to help the family, and through the interference of a kind providence, I was taken in and mentored by a man named William Greenly, who worked as a stock broker on Wall Street. He became a father to me in many ways and taught me everything I know about the market, which has led me to be moderately successful today.”
“My goodness,” Leola exclaimed. “That’s quite the history. You didn’t mention a thing about that at lunch.”
“Well, it seemed too nice an afternoon for sad stories. But this one has a happy ending—or at least, I believe it will once a few things are ironed out.” Mr. Kendall paused to thank the waitress as she placed his meal in front of him.
There was so much that he wasn’t saying, so many things that Anastasia sensed but couldn’t describe.
She wanted to know more, but it really wasn’t any of her business.
She had no right to ask, and he had no obligation to tell.
And that lack of connection was disturbing and disappointing to her.
James steered the conversation to less personal topics, asking Mr. Kendall his opinion on gold vs.
silver. She’d never known her father to be so interested in the market, but he demonstrated quite a lot of knowledge as he posed his questions to Mr. Kendall, and she realized there were sides to her father she’d never noticed.
In fact, there were probably many sides to both her parents that she’d never noticed, and that was likely her own doing because she chose to escape into her imagination so often.
She should pay more attention to the world around her and see what other pleasant discoveries she could make.
When the meal drew to a close, Mr. Kendall wiped his mouth and set the napkin aside, then spoke to her father.
“Mr. Smith, I realize the hour is getting late, but the sun hasn’t yet set, and I’d like to ask permission to take your daughter on a short stroll over to a nearby botanical garden I think she would enjoy.
I promise to have her back within the hour. ”
James glanced at his wife. “I’ve no objection as long as Anastasia would like to go.”
She was both pleased that he’d left the choice to her and annoyed by it—if she said no, the blame would be on her. However, she didn’t want to say no. “I’d enjoy that, Mr. Kendall. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Would you like to go directly, or would you rather fetch a shawl or anything from your room first?” he asked. Spoken like a man who knew the habits of women. She wondered if he’d gained that knowledge from his mother and sister or from a bygone relationship.
“We can go from here. I don’t believe I’ll get chilly in today’s weather.”
“Well then, let’s be off. One hour, Mr. Smith. You can watch the time if you like.”
“You can plan on it, Mr. Kendall,” James said, his stern tone belied by his slight chuckle.
Anastasia sent her father a grateful look as she rose from her seat.
She was nervous to be alone with Mr. Kendall now that she’d had a chance to analyze her feelings, but she was also looking forward to it.
She would never know the truth of her own mind if she didn’t examine it, and she couldn’t do that with other people listening in.
Mr. Kendall escorted her outside, and she took a deep breath of the fresh air drifting across the front of the hotel. “Thank you for suggesting a walk, Mr. Kendall. As much as I’m enjoying our stay at the hotel, it gets stuffy in there.”